Still, I'm determined to go up. I decide that if I can get any of the transport companies to take me up, then I'll go. The woman at the Club Habitat YHA (a dump but I love the area) tells me to come back to the office after the 7pm weather report. If the forecast isn't horrible she will book people for the Crossing to go up early the next morning.

So, after a rainy afternoon hiking by the river, I return to the office for the verdict. "No way," says the woman. "There's no way we can send people up with this forecast. No one will go up tomorrow." "How about Sunday?" I ask hopefully. "More of the same," she says.

I'm crestfallen, but I know I have other great hikes ahead of me in the South Island. I decide to head down to Wellington the next day. If the weather is going to be awful I can go to a museum. I tell my roommates I'm sleeping late and am grateful for the good weather I've had so far on my trip. Missing the Crossing will be the first time the weather has thwarted a planned activity.

Even when I plan to sleep late, I rarely do. Sometime around 7am I head out to the washroom and notice that it doesn't look nearly as dire outside as predicted. I'd heard that one of the transport companies goes up a bit later than the others. I start to wonder if I have time to ring them up and see if they will take me.

As I'm thinking this, I see another guy sitting outside, so I make a comment about the weather. His name is Martin and he's in a similar situation as me. He's heard the negative report from the YHA woman but is planning on heading over to the last transport company to see if they will go up. He says we need to be there by 7:20.

In a flash, I pull on my rain pants, fill up the water bottle and grab a bag of peanuts. I hussle over to the transport office (at the bus terminal) and ask the guy there if they're going up.

"Are you an experienced hiker?" he asks. "Yes, very experienced," I reply. Unexpectedly, this launches him into a long tirade about how a group of hikers, including one American guy he emphasizes, asked to be taken up the day before. They swore up and down that they were expert hikers, so he took them up. The group turned back though, fearing for their lives in the high winds. Then they complained to the office that they shouldn't allow people to go up in such dangerous conditions.

I try to assure him that he'll have no worries from me or Martin, but he's on a roll and won't stop. He says the winds will be from 65-80 mph today, with considerable snow and rain. He slaps down a note of complaint that another group of hikers left and threatens us if we do the same.

Bottom line is we're going up though! I don't care what the weather's like, I'm feeling very fortunate. The earlier transport companies didn't bring anyone up, so there's far less people doing the Crossing today than usual.

I'm freezing at the start though! I knew I'd be underdressed, and would warm up while hiking, but shivering at the start is not auspicious. Figuring I won't be able to stop at all in bad weather, I stand at the start drinking water and eating peanuts while everyone else starts hiking. I know I'll have plenty of time to do the hike. In fact, I know I'll probably pass everyone one I get rolling. Outside of injury, dehydration is my only obstacle, so I want to avoid that straight off.

I start hiking slowly because the trail is easy with only a slight rain falling, and I want to save myself for bad weather during an exposed climb. The track stays easy until just after the Soda Spring, where it starts a moderate climb. The winds pick up though, until they are quite strong, but mostly coming across my shoulder or back. At the top of the first climb the wind is tremendous, but almost completely at my back. I feel like I'm skating across this broad, icy, eerie, crater-pocked moonscape of a plain.

It's hard to see much though, as there's a light snow and visability is poor. In the middle of the plain I start to see a few groups of people heading back! What the hell could possibly persuade them to turn around and face these gale force winds?

Seems like it's just another climb. True, this one is tougher -- steeper and with fierce winds against the left shoulder, but it's not all that high. In good weather, the Crossing is an easy hike, so many novices go up without realizing what mountain conditions can be like.

Since this is a nasty stretch, I'm power hiking up the hill, passing everyone by. I can barely see though, since my glasses have fogged up and visability is terrible anyway. I make the mistake of following people rather than trail markers. Sure enough, after sliding down a scree slope, I get to a spot where a group is standing around confused as to where to go.

This exposed slope is no place to stand around though! I honestly think that people in groups do worse in wilderness situations. I heard a story from a German woman named Tanja that I think illustrates this. A group of New Zealand army guys were doing mountaineering training in this area. They got caught in bad weather and died while quite close to a hut. A Japanese tourist was also caught in the snow nearby. This tourist was a novice climber who was in New Zealand for four days, just to do this climb. He spent two of those days taking a crash survival course. When the storm hit, he built a snow cave and survived. I believe it was "group paralysis" that killed the army guys rather than lack of expertise. I'm certain they stood around looking at each other until it was too late.

I'm too cold to stand around with the confused group, so I immediately turn around and head back up the scree slope, unsuccessfully urging them to follow. Not surprisingly, the right path isn't far off. The group only starts back up after I yell to them that I see it.

Down at the bottom of the scree slope I get my first look of one of the fantastic lakes in this second basin. I turn around and see Martin, so I comment on the great view we have. Martin was so intent on hiking that he didn't even notice the lake! We've been cheated out of some views up to this point and the harsh winds get you in the habit of looking down.

We are blessed with a reprieve from the wind and haze though! I see a pair of extraordinarily colored lakes, and unlike Rotorua, here are blue and green lakes right next to each other. The clouds part for a few minutes to give us a quick peek far down the mountain! I can hardly believe my luck. It's so pleasantly scenic in this relatively calm second basin that I take a short sidetrack along one of the Emerald Lakes. I'm tempted to linger longer, but I'm a bit afraid that the weather will change again and punish me for being under-dressed.

Moving on was probably the right move because as I head towards the ascent out of the second basin I'm exposed to the strongest winds yet. I bend my left shoulder, leaning into the astonishing winds like a running back hitting the line. Noticing that a shoe is untied, I duck behind a boulder to lace it up. My hands are so cold that I can barely accomplish this. I stay behind the boulder for a bit, drinking water and preparing for a quick run up and out of the basin, and hopefully the wind.

Two other guys, Matt and Joel, catch up to me and huddle behind the rock. I tell them that I think this last climb should be the last bad bit. I have no trail knowledge to confirm this, I just have a feeling based on my experiences with other mountains. So, as I'm blasting up the hill, through terrible winds, I'm telling myself that it will be cake and candy on the other side. The hiking will be easy, the winds calm, no rain, and apple pies will float down from the sky. I'm convinced of it.

I get to the top and... I'm right! Well, not about the apple pies, but everything else is perfect and I have spectacularly clear sunny views out past Ketetahi Hut, all the way far beyond Lake Rotoaira. I'm so happy I practically dance down the trail to the hut.

I have tons of time, so I hang around there chatting with people as they drop in. The pleasant hike down from the hut is marked two hours but really takes 70-80 minutes. Everyone on our bus made it out so we don't have to hang around accounting for anyone. I'm feeling incredibly lucky to have not only gotten to do the Crossing, but to have had such unexpectedly easy weather besides.